October 15th, 2019 was the last time I had a Gemzar Abraxane infusion (chemo therapy) for my pancreas cancer that had metastasized to my lungs. The decision to stop treatment was one I made prayerfully and on my own. As a six year survivor of a lethal cancer with a five year survival rate of single digits, this was a bold move.

My Mayo oncologist, Dr. Mody’s reaction to my decision was surprisingly positive. Last fall I was feeling the effects of prolonged treatment and could actually taste, smell and feel the chemo that had been a part of my life since July 2017 when it was discovered the cancer had moved to my lungs. But, I had become so fatigued and ill, he agreed I needed a break. The holidays were approaching and I wanted to be able to enjoy every moment with my family and most of all my grandchildren who asked when they walked into the house, “Mia, are you in bed today?”

In January of 2018, a CT scan revealed one of my numerous lung spots had doubled in size. It was recommended that chemo be administered every two weeks. So, for as many months I had endured the treatment that would produce flu like symptoms days after and keep me weakened and nauseous.

In mid October of 2019, I contracted an intestinal virus somehow that caused me extreme vomiting and diarrhea and landed me in the hospital for five days. However, the nausea continued after the virus subsided.

The oncologist described my condition beyond the virus as nausea brought on by prolonged chemotherapy…something in my head!

If you follow my blog you know I am a faith filled person. I consider myself to be strong and able to handle discomfort pretty well. While I know the dire statistics that come with this diagnosis, I face life with confidence that God is in control. He determines when He will call me home, not the doctors who treat me with the science He has given them.

I believe He has work for me to do to increase awareness and fight for much needed research that will one day find an early detection for this cancer that kills nearly 20% of us diagnosed within one year.

In the last six years my husband, family, doctors and close friends have supported me unconditionally. They have provided the care I need, whatever it might be, along each set back. God and they have seen me thru some very difficult times.

But, this cancer, that I now look at as a blessing in our lives, has given us so many positive changes. It has brought our family closer to God, closer to one another and also empowered us to start a foundation to fund important research that will result in a simple test that could be administered to patients presenting with family history, predisposition or early symptoms that have been dismissed in the past as other less serious digestive issues.

Every six to eight weeks I go to Mayo for scans and bloodwork to determine the status of my cancer. It is always a time of anxiety and concern as the date approaches. However, I have learned to listen to my body and believe that while I am feeling as good as I can, the cancer must still be at bay.

The last three scans have reported as “stable”. This means that the 13 spots in my lungs, while still evident and growing very slowly, are not at this moment out of control.

I chose to carry on and take in each breath enjoying my family and friends in gratitude for the life we have been blessed with so abundantly until the day …

…the shoe drops.

The post Waiting for the shoe to drop… first appeared on Zjudes blog.

Tom dressed in his familiar purple Jude’s Dudes tee shirt and cream colored shorts. I found something light and comfortable knowing it would be a warm fall day. We continued with our familiar routine, fed the dog, checked the doors and left the house just as the sun was beginning to peak thru. We were silent in the car as we both wondered how the day would unfold. Would we return home with good news or bad news. It was always that same aching feeling inside.

Four years, six months, seven days we have lived with this cloud hovering overhead. Scans every three months were always the same. Some small pain would appear a few weeks approaching the date. Could it be the return of the beast? Well, this time was a bit different. We knew the beast had returned. Now we faced a different set of concerns. And they were more defining. They were more worrisome. What was happening deep within my body that would predict how the next three months would be spent.

Trips were planned, holidays were approaching. Our favorite time of year to gather to celebrate with our four children and their husbands and wives, and our eight and a half grand children…our extended family and friends. Would Tommy be making the flight and hotel reservations for our Thanksgiving trip? Would I be strong enough to enjoy all the plans? That question would be answered in a few short hours. But, for now, happiness swung in the balance.

We parked the car and walked toward the hospital hand in hand as we always do, entered and took the elevate to the second floor. The line was already long. It seemed lately the hospital was filled with more people then ever. We checked in and took a seat near the double doors. About half and hour later a nurse called my name and I left Tom and followed her thru the doors and back to a small treatment room. Her tray was prepared as I took a seat in the lounge chair marked ” Clean for use”. The nurse who recognized me was wide eyed and smiling as she shared how hard the weekend transition from Daylight savings time had been for her children.. everyone up far too early. She handed me a paper mask as she prepared to clean the area around my port with alcohol and unsealed the power port access needle. We continued to talk until she said , “OK take a deep breath.” I felt the needle puncture the port and tasted the saline solution as she flushed to make sure we had a good access. She placed a clear plastic shield over the port and taped the access tube in place. “There, you are all set.” Just like every time before. “You can return to the waiting room. Just drink these two glasses of contrast, the second glass to this line.” As she escorted me to the lobby.

I rejoined Tom and we sat looking at the people in the crowded room from the sickest to the healthiest. Some in wheelchairs, some coughing with tubes and oxygen tanks. Some speaking foreign languages….some looking perfectly healthy. But, you wonder…why are they here and knowing they were wondering the same thing about us.

About half an hour later a man called my name. I recognized his voice. He’s the one on the taped recording ….”Take a deep breath in …and hold it”. I had seen him before and he recognized me too. We made our way back thru the hallway to the room that held the large white circular tube that would determine my fate. He offered me a heated blanket as he instructed me to lay on the narrow bed that would slide into the tube. He hooked me up to the small tube that would inject the contrast at one point during the procedure. I raised my hands above my head as he looped the tiny tube around my fingers above my head. “Ah, you know the drill.” And before I knew it the machine was humming and I lay alone in the room with that machine.

The scan only takes about ten minutes thankfully. As soon as I was finished and unhooked I walked back toward Tommy. A large hot English Breakfast tea would soon be in my hands. We would eat breakfast before the test results and our meeting with our Radiology Oncologist at 10:25AM who would give us the answers we have been waiting for. Dr. Ko was the one who had been graphing the nodes since he found the first one in my lungs two years ago. The ones he swore were treatable early onset lung cancer.

We returned to the hospital and made our way to the first floor radiology department and checked in at the desk. We sat on the wall near the brass bell. The one the patients ring when they complete their final radiation treatment. The one I had rung four years ago. It wasn’t long before our friendly nurse Laurie escorted us back, took my vitals and asked me general questions, “Are you in pain, what is the level of pain one to ten.” etc.etc. “Dr. Ko is behind today, I apologize for the wait, but he’ll be with you soon.”

The first few minutes when he entered the room I was fearful. But, he held a paper in his hand with several notes he had made upon reviewing my scan. “it appears the node in your left lung has disappeared” The right lung nodes are stable with even the largest one reducing in size.” “No more new nodes.” My eyes began to tear up. “So, the chemo pills are working?” I asked. “Yes, they are doing just what we hoped they would do.”

I really didn’t hear much of the conversation he and Tommy had beyond that. My heart leaped with joy. I felt like the sunshine had just appeared and I felt light headed. It was better news than I had prayed for.

Was it the healing ministry prayers, my bible study prayer warriors, my family and friends who had texted me that morning. God had graced us once again with good news, with another three months of reprieve. Cancer wasn’t going to rain on our holidays this year. We said our thankful prayers to God as we sat alone together. “Lord, you continue to favor us with your grace. We give you the complete glory for this and we pray that others see this example and are filled with your Holy Spirit.

Yes, it is working.

Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God.” Mark 10:27/NIV

The post Is it working? first appeared on Zjudes blog.

Thank God for Pan Can Action Network and the affiliates located all over the US ready to support and inspire all of us with PC. The Purple Light Ceremony honors those who have “earned their purple wings” of PC and the caregivers and family of those left behind. They also honor the survivors who usually number just a few. The PanCan. volunteers are truly angels.

My Facebook friends on the Whipple Surgery Survivors page call it “scanxiety”. It is the awful feeling that begins the day you receive the appointment and steadily builds until you reach the date. Each lump or bump, each pain or ache raises the question, “Could it be cancer rearing its ugly head again?”

Being diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer is the worst possible thing that has ever happened to me. And yet, in some ways, I admit it has been the best thing that ever happened. So much good has come out of the situation for myself, my family and my friends that I can make that statement in truth.

One person has been introduced to me with PC that has survived 13 years. And that is a miracle. 13 years would not support statistics from the American Cancer Society survival rate for this cancer. He has truly beaten the odds. And he is my inspiration. I can be just like him….a long time survivor. I believe this and I pray for that. But, I still worry.

Each case of PC is different. This disease, that normally strikes after it is too late to treat, places an expiration date on your life. Not a precise one, but, it causes you to face your longevity head on. You could live a few weeks, a few months, a few years. But always the adjective “few” precedes the time.

The good that comes from this is that you can prepare. You cannot help but be thankful for each morning when the sun goes up and you are standing in your kitchen window, coffee cup in hand, admiring God’s handiwork. You look at your family members in an entirely different light. You see the good in them, and they are probably on their best behavior. You see more of them and you have deep conversations that you would never have had. Your friends go out of their way to offer and give assistance. They send beautiful cards expressing their concern and letting you know they are praying for you. Your church family visits you in the hospital and at home and confirms their support and prayers. My house is always filled with a bouquet of fresh flowers from a thoughtful friend. It is really very wonderful.

I was personally convinced the lumps and bumps in my tummy were new cancerous tumors. I lay on the hard bed of the CT machine filled with apprehension praying to God. I told Him I could accept His will whatever it was, but I really needed more time. I have some important things to do this year. Please let me get thru this scan with a good report.

Dr. Johnson, my Oncologist, rushed into the examining room with a smile on her face saying….”What a good report you have. Everything looks good.” She sat at her desk pulling up the scan on her monitor and explained the lumps were just hernias that had developed in the surgical area. “I can live with hernias…I love hernias” I laughed. I had to ask her to say it ….”So I am cancer free?” “Yes, you are cancer free.” she replied.

When we pulled into our driveway there were three smiley faces and one big purple flower balloon tied to the mailbox. I still don’t know who did that, but it sure made me feel good and it was an excellent way to tell neighbors we had a good report. Thank you to my secret friends whoever you are.

We are good for another three months. That takes us to June……just one month before our family trip to Italy.

Father God, thank you for the good news today, And, please let that June scan be good.

Psalm 91
I am still living under His angel wings. Maybe I never will move from there.

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